Black Belt in Stockings
by suckersoprano
Summary: Craig gets into a bet with the UPS man who delivers to his library every week. He loses. Factventure, human AU
1. Chapter 1

Craig had been regarding the regular UPS man with some disdain. He knew the type, the swaggering, sweet-talking ladies' man who told as many lies as a fisherman. Fact: Those kinds of men always had some kind of hang up to compensate for, whatever it might be. Regardless of his mannerisms, Craig couldn't deny that his regular appearance at _his_ library wasn't entirely unwelcome. He was far from an eyesore, at the very least. Most of the female librarians he worked with made ridiculous excuses just to see the dark-haired charmer. Craig was usually _there_ when he came, mostly because he was the one who had to sign for the packages he brought. If he didn't have to be, he wouldn't bother, but that was the pains of being in charge.

Normally, the UPS man's attention was directed at the female librarians; he'd talk and flirt, bragging about what kind of 'man' he was or whatever it was. Not that Craig paid attention and meticulously documented all of his lies for a very quick reminder of why he didn't date often. Really, how often can one person hear about all the black belts someone allegedly has before it's written off as a lie? There wasn't even such a thing as a black belt in belt making… Craig really didn't want to hear about how the UPS man pulled orphans from burning buildings or travelled to Europe; he simply wasn't interested. But listen he did; Craig even knew his name. '_Rick'_ it said on neat black letters on a bronze nametag, not that he didn't hear it several times when he stopped by anyhow.

This week, however, he was the only one required to be at the library, due to major renovations that were desperately needed. Unfortunately, Craig only had a very small say in what happened in the renovations. Needless to say, it was a stressful week, but on Friday, as always, in strolls Rick with his wide, cocky grin. Craig steeled his patience and willed all of his nerves to be anything but completely raw and reached out to sign for the package, not bothering to look up at Rick's unnerving green eyes. The signing machine didn't come, so Craig was forced to look up.

"You don't talk much, do ya?" Rick asked him with what appeared to be an attempted charming smile.

"Fact: Talking any more than necessary heightens the risk of biting one's tongue off accidentally by about 35%," he said flatly, not keen on being chatted up.

"Ah, I wouldn't think someone like you would have much anything fun to say anyway," Rick conceded with a little shrug.

For some reason Craig couldn't identify, that snide little comment made him bristle, "In fact, I am very interesting, just not to someone like you, who couldn't possibly understand my interests!"

"Woah-hoh there, Pinky!" Rick said, holding up a hand in mock surrender.

There the delivery man had to go and press the proverbial big red button; Craig hated anyone making fun of his eye color, especially cocky UPS men, "All you come in here and talk about is how you're some kind of macho man, I'm _positive_ you wouldn't understand."

Rick screwed up his face in an expression of amusement, "Heh! I used to eat nerds like you for breakfast, there ain't much to understand."

Craig could hear his temper audibly snap, "Yes, you, with your imaginary black belts and your obvious fictional bragging would think there _'isn't much to understand.'_ You're nothing but a blowhard and a liar!"

Rick's eyes suddenly took on a darker tone, almost like he was the cat who caught a bird, "You think that, d'ya? You really think I'm some kind of compensantin' little-dicked liar?" Rick actually laughed, "You wanna make a _bet_, Pinkie?"

"As a matter of fact, I do!" Craig shouted, quickly adjusting his glasses that had gotten askew in his rant.

"Pick something, you find out I'm a liar, you get whatever you want from me, but if I win, I get a date, my rules," Rick said with a dangerous smile.

Craig paused for half a moment, jolted back to reality by what Rick wanted if he won this bet. He wanted a _date_? He quickly gathered his senses and thought about what would be easy to disprove so he'd win. He didn't think about what he wanted if he won, it was more important that he proved this braggart wrong.

"Your black belts, I don't believe you have all of them," Craig said finally, "Agreed?"

Rick immediately put on a stony poker face that Craig didn't know how to interpret. He offered the signature machine to Craig, who stumbled a bit, but managed to scrawl out his signature. Rick gave him the box he was supposed to deliver before saying anything else.

"You have got yourself a bet, sweetheart, I'll pick you up same time tomorrow, to prove you wrong," he said with a little bit of a malicious edge in his voice.

Craig swallowed heavily and realized he may not have chosen the best parameters. Fact: His chances for winning had dropped from a very promising 100% to a dismal 70% according to how steeled Rick's nerves looked. He had solace in the fact that he was absolutely sure that there was no black belt in kick punching or even such a thing as larate. Rick stuck out his hand and they shook on it.

"I'll see you tomorrow then, _Craig,_" Rick said with a funny twitch at the corners of his mouth.

Craig tried not to think of it while he went back to work. This was wholly unexpected, but Craig felt the ensuing vindication, though he didn't like the nagging feeling of biting off more than he could chew.

The next day, no package in hand, Rick appeared just as he said he would. He wasn't wearing his normal brown uniform, but instead a pair of tight jeans that begged to be looked at and a green button-up with the sleeves rolled up. Craig had half a mind to try and pretend he wasn't at the library, but Rick evidently knew where to look for him, even through the din and mess of the renovations. Rick dragged him out from behind some of the old bookshelves with a needling comment about backing out of their bet and quickly packed up the short librarian into his red pickup truck.

His truck didn't have air conditioning, but this allowed Craig to forego any unnecessary conversation. Not that Rick wasn't blasting the radio anyway; Craig swore he could hear him mumbling along with the words, which was kind of cute… he guessed. It was just the radio and it was something dreadfully generic, but watching Rick's fingers absently tap out the beat on the steering wheel was honestly kind of endearing. Craig would be damned if he would admit it.

Rick suddenly pulled into the parking lot of a building marked with the imposing block letters 'MMA' along with the silhouettes of several men in different fighting poses. Craig anticipated this and was fully willing to admit that he did indeed have perhaps one black belt, but the rest were clearly made up. Rick shut off the car and shot Craig a smirk before exiting the car. Craig watched him for a moment before hurrying to follow, nearly falling completely out of the pickup. Rick paid no mind; Fact: this was an inane little excursion and Craig couldn't wait until he won.

Rick held the door open for him, though. Craig was a mite apprehensive about going into a place whose main function was to facilitate violent behavior, but he wasn't about to let that bit of anxiety show. He walked into the building, to be greeted by several blue mats on the floor, all with several brawny looking men in various workout clothes paired off into several circles drawn on the ground. Craig watched them all spar for half a moment before Rick touched his shoulder.

"C'mere and lookit this, Pinkie," he said as he then dragged Craig over to one of the large frames on the wall.

This one was a bit bigger than the rest of them and it had a couple of newspaper clippings on the inside, along with some glossy mid-fight photos, and a stretch of black belts across the bottom. Rick tapped the name at the top of the frame, which proudly displayed 'Richard Ames' in gold letters.

"This is mine," Rick said, needlessly, pointing out each of the belts, "This is my first one, Karate, the second is Larate, the sped up version of Karate. That one's Jiu Jitsu, then Tae Kwon Do, and that last one is a form that I had to develop on my own, Kick Puching. I'm not so clever with the names, heh!"

There they all were, in a neat row. All five of them, which Craig was now staring at with a bit of shock. Fact: He did not know that Larate was a genuine fighting form! Craig pulled his reading glasses out of his shirt pocket to inspect the frame, but sure enough, there they all were. This couldn't be accurate, could it? Craig realized that Rick had forgotten one black belt he claimed to have.

"Fine, I concede that you have black belts in fighting or whatever it is these are called, but don't think I have forgotten your 'black belt in beltmaking,'" Craig said, trying not to sound too frantic about it.

Rick shook his head with a knowing smile and shrugged, "Aww, Pinkie, just wanted you to think you had some kinda ace inna hole or somethin'. I'll get to that, but that obviously ain't fightin.'"

And with that, Rick dragged Craig back out of the MMA studio and back into his awful and stuffy pickup. It took them a bit longer to get to the next place, but Rick waltzed right into a freaking craft store like he owned the place with Craig in tow. He greeted an aging woman at the checkout counter casually and finally made it to the back of the store, where there was a counter with various woods for frames and then several long spools of leather behind it. There was a grizzled old man with a trucker cap standing at the spools, trying to measure out some lush looking brown leather.

When the man looked up and saw Rick, he visibly brightened, "Hey, ya rascal, I didn't think I'd see you 'gain for a while," he rasped in a whistle-like voice.

"You know me, Earl, I'll blow in when I feel like it," Rick said jovially.

"What kin I do fer ya, then?" 'Earl' rasped at him with a grin.

"Ah, nothin' really, I just had a friend here who didn't believe me when I said I had a black belt in beltmakin,'" Rick said, "Do me a favor and prove him wrong, would'ya?"

Earl laughed a wheezing laugh for a moment before looking at Craig who was beginning to dread even speaking do the damn UPS man when he came trouncing into his library, "Yeah, he's right. It's somethin' of a pun we got 'round here, but he's one a' my best students."

Craig managed to swallow enough to wet his dry throat so he could speak, "Forgive a doubting Thomas, but do you have proof?"

Earl thought about it for a second before moving to the counter and pulling out a large binder. He flipped through it for a few moments before turning it so Craig could see. There was Rick's name, just as he'd seen it on the martial arts studio, right next to the words 'black belt achievement in beltmaking.' He paled a bit and suddenly couldn't feel any moisture in his throat. Rick clapped a hand on Craig's shoulder and steered him away after giving Earl a hearty handshake and a thanks.

The ride home was silent, but Craig was still reeling from this embarrassment. He couldn't believe that… that… Fact: His pride was not going to allow him to back down now, lest he be called a coward every time Rick sauntered into the library. That scenario would take place every week, if not more and Craig had a reputation to maintain. Rick pulled up to the library and parked.

"So, I'll pick you up tomorrow at eight," Rick said, positively beaming with smug satisfaction, "There's one more thing though, Pinkie."

Craig looked up at Rick dully. His pride was pretty punctured by now and things weren't going to get much worse for him. Little did he know.

"My rules for this date; a bet's a bet. You have to do what I say when I say it, though I promise I won't getcha arrested or nothing, okay? You also gotta wear a dress, sweetheart, it's Ladies' night that night, got it?" Rick said with a steadily wider grin.

With that, Rick dropped Craig off near his car. He was still in shock, but what could he do? He didn't even own a dress, what self-respecting bachelor did? Oh no, and if he was going to be wearing a dress… He would be humiliated if he didn't pass as a woman… He had to call Catherine.

Catherine was his best friend from college, though they seemed like complete opposites. Craig was a serial introvert, someone who'd much rather stay in and read than go and even think about making friends. Catherine had been involved in the theatre department in college and she was the epitome of a social butterfly. She was also persistent and didn't take 'no' for an answer, which would be why they were friends. She had gone on to be a pretty well-known makeup artist for a movie company, so Craig was never gladder to have her as a friend.

He took a deep breath and rehearsed in his mind what he would tell her before punching her number into his cellphone. He quickly got into his car and shut the door, just in case.

She picked up on the third ring, "Helloooo, who is it~?"

"Catherine, it's me," he said simply.

"Craig! You are a horrible friend, when is the last time you've called me? Why do you always take so long to call?" she asked rapid fire.

Craig winced, not having the patience to deal with her incessant inquiries right now, "Cat, I'm sorry, things have been crazy with the renovations."

"Why didn't you text me then?" she asked; Craig could practically hear the pout.

"I have a problem," he sighed, suddenly unsure of how to explain the situation.

"Oh, what's up?" she said, suddenly the picture of an avid listener.

"This is going to sound really strange, but promise that you'll help me first," Craig said, deadly serious.

"Are you going to kill someone? Are you in jail! Craig, don't do this to me, why are you being so shady!" she suddenly burst out.

"No! I'm not going to kill anyone and I'm not in jail!" Craig said, trying to backtrack, "Look, I have to look as much like a woman as I can, tomorrow night. Can you help me?"

There was a long pause on her end of the line and Craig pulled the phone away to make sure the call wasn't dropped, but it hadn't been. He was afraid she might have fainted for half a second before she started to laugh.

"Oh my god, I will be right over!" she said excitedly and hung up.

Craig tossed his phone in the front seat and leaned his forehead on the steering wheel. There went all the rest of the vestiges of his pride. Catherine better work some damn miracles, or he'd never live this down in all of his life. Fact: He would find out if it was possible to die of embarrassment tomorrow night.

Craig pulled his car into the parking lot of his apartment complex and shakily got out of the car. He honestly hoped that Catherine was not about to make good on her promise to be there tonight and would be asleep right now. The headache of her questions and the ensuing preparations were really too much for him to even want to deal with. A hot bath and a strong drink were the only things he needed right now. He pulled himself up the stairs and into his darkened apartment before being immediately greeted by a tackle hug from a certain blonde makeup artist.

"Oh my god, oh my god! Craig, what is going on? You tell me right now, or do you not trust me? Craaaaig, did you get roped into a drag show?" was the whining string of questions he heard first.

Craig pushed Catherine's shoulder off of his neck and fumbled around for a light switch from his position on the ground. Catherine pouted at his silence, but got off of him and sat on the floor on her knees with her arms crossed while he searched for the lights. They eventually popped on, but Craig almost turned them back off when he saw the death glare Catherine was shooting him.

He sighed heavily, "What?" he finally said, in defeat.

"What. Is. Going. On?" she asked, slower this time.

Craig pulled his knees up to his chin and banged his head against them, "I have a date tomorrow night," he admitted.

After a moment's silence, he deigned to look up at her. Her hazel eyes were obviously smiling, but both her hands covered her mouth. She was trying to prevent herself from screaming, he knew. He groaned; Fact: Every single time Catherine has even gotten a whiff of Craig's mostly non-existent love life; she flipped out over it and went completely overboard.

"Eeeeeeeee! Is he cute? Did he ask you out or did you ask him out? Where did you meet him? Where are you going on your date? Ohmigawd, does he have a brother?" she spouted after she lowered her hands.

"Oh god, Catherine, can you spare me the embarrassment this once?" he moaned, rubbing his hands over his face.

"Fine, but you're answering all of my questions if you want my help," she said stubbornly, "First thing's first, go get in the shower!"

Craig couldn't argue with that command. He picked himself off of the floor and started heading toward his bathroom. Catherine jumped up and started digging in a ridiculous amount of bags that Craig didn't see before. Oh god no, this was going to be torture. He tried to escape all the way to the bathroom, but to no avail.

"Wait, wait!" Catherine shouted, pulling out a small plastic shower bag from a trunk-like bag, "Use these shower gels, and take off all your hair!"

Craig froze on the spot when she spoke. Fact: Secondary sex characteristics were there for a reason! Catherine placed the bag of shower gels in his hands and offered him a lady's razor, glinting in the light a cheery pink right at him. Pink was his favorite color, but he didn't hate it as much as he did right that moment. He took the bag and the razor and slammed the bathroom door shut behind him.

"And I mean all of it, Craig. Don't test me, I'll check!" he heard Cat yelling through the door.

He shuddered and knew she wasn't joking in the least. She seemed to be enjoying herself; that was probably why she didn't immediately flip out when he told her why he needed her help. He did call her for a reason, he remembered as he got into the shower. She was good at what she did and she had seen stranger things happen every day.

God, Craig missed his body hair already, this was taking forever! Fact: It took him exactly 53 minutes to get all of the hair off of his body, including his leg, chest, and pubic hair, for fear of Catherine. The shower gels smelled nice, at least. They smelled like peaches and cream, which wasn't terribly manly, but it wasn't unpleasant. He got out of the shower and toweled himself off, suddenly aware of every inch of his skin. Well, apparently there was a reason women painstakingly removed all the hair they could find. He ran an experimental hand down his calf and involuntarily shivered. He didn't have a lot of hair in the first place, but suddenly with the blonde downy leg hair gone… things felt very different. Maybe he didn't miss his hair so much anymore. This was an interesting sensation, at least.

There was a sharp rapping at the door, which broke him out of his momentary distraction, "Craig, are you done in there?" Catherine called.

He quickly put the towel around his waist and opened the door, "Can't you give me some privacy?"

"Why are you taking so long?" Catherine asked flippantly, "Hurry up, I have to put on the moisturizer and all that so you're ready for tomorrow! What time is he picking you up?"

"Eight," he said sullenly, moving past her out of the bathroom toward his room.

He quickly shut the door before Catherine could follow him in and put on his normal pair of boxer briefs. Even the fabric against him felt different, not just his touch; this all felt weird. He felt slightly colder, but he wrote it off to just perception. He pulled on a pair of sleeping pants and involuntarily shivered again. God, he'd never get over the sensation of bare legs like that.

He opened up the door to his bedroom to find Catherine busily setting up Styrofoam mannequin heads and wigs on his coffee table. They were all pale blonde of one shade or another, many of them nearly matching his own pale blonde locks. She noticed him standing there and stood up, grabbing a couple of bottles while she did so.

"Can you come sit over here?" she said absently, like he was one of her clients.

He obliged her and sat down on his armchair; staring at the wigs with a sense of dread. All of them were different, from bouffant to flapper. She set up the bottles next to a beehive hairdo and started to open them. She poured a bit of what looked like runny lotion on her hands. He made a face; these were all decidedly feminine products. Oh well, anything to avoid embarrassment tomorrow.

She quickly began rubbing some of the lotion on his face, "Soooooo, what's his name?"

Craig rolled his eyes, he knew her curiosity would eventually win over, "It's not what you think it is, Cat, I promise."

She stopped rubbing for a moment to look him dead in the eye, "Oh, I highly doubt that. Do you think I'm stupid? Fine, start at the beginning, how did you get into this mess?"  
>Craig bit his tongue for half a second to prevent himself from telling her <em>'yes, indeed I do think you're stupid but you're saving my ass and I can't say that, can I?'<em> It was best not to piss her off and knowing how many times they'd gotten into arguments over the years, it wasn't going to be easy.

"He's the UPS delivery person, he comes to the library every week," he said in a dead monotone, "He fancies himself some kind of lady killer and always flirts with my female employees."

Cat's eyebrows blended in with her hairline, but she didn't say anything. Craig nearly stopped right there, realizing what he made this sound like: like he was trying to seduce some sexy deliveryman by being an elaborate trap; that couldn't be further from the truth. That sexy deliveryman was forcing him to be an elaborate trap.

"He has a… tendency to shoot his mouth off, quite a lot," Craig continued, "So during the renovations, I may have lost my temper a little bit and accused him of lying."

Cat's mouth tensed like she was trying not to smile or laugh, but she kept her eyes on her work and even switched to another lotion that she was applying to his hands and elbows.

"He made me a bet, he said that if I could prove he was lying on a specific instance, I would win, but if he won, he got a date by his rules," Craig said, realizing just now that he'd gotten himself into this mess. Just fantastic.

"Let me guess," Catherine said, unable to suppress her mirth any longer, "You lost and now you have to have a date with him as a woman."

Craig glared at her with eyes that could melt metal. Of course that was correct. Fact: Catherine knew him better than most, and that fact pissed Craig off to no end some days. Catherine finally finished applying some cream under Craig's eyes and closed all of the bottles. She quickly put them away and shooed him off of the chair.

"Gogogo, go to sleep! What time do you normally wake up?" she asked impatiently.

"I do not work tomorrow, so… maybe ten o'clock," he said with a moment's thought.

"Wake up at nine," Catherine giggled, "Can I stay the night?"

Of course, the answer was yes, so she settled on his couch and he in his room. He managed to fall asleep and only had minor nightmares about being discovered tomorrow. Lying in bed with his duvet over him felt strange, too; sleeping shirtless made him very aware that he shaved off all the hair there, too. All in all, he didn't have a lot of body hair, but being so aware of it was a strange feeling. He woke up the next day to the sound of his alarm clock feeling much more aroused than if he had a standard erotic dream. Gods, this whole business was completely foreign to him; that was how he justified it in his head.


	2. Chapter 2

Once he woke up Catherine on his sofa, she forced him to put on some more creams and suchon his hands and face. He swore, this woman was going to turn him into a damned lotion bottle. After that, she forced him to go shopping with her, choosing things that would specifically fit him like a glove. She refused to divulge exactly what she was planning on making him wear, but trying on these clothes was about to give him an aneurism. While looking around the store, they could be perceived as a normal pair looking for her. Once they got up to the changing rooms… well, Craig was glad that he didn't go to shopping malls often. He'd probably never return after a few strange looks by the employees.

She didn't let him see what she was buying for him, though she'd hold up an array of different colors of fabric against his chest to see what would suit him. She also eyed him suspiciously a few times while traipsing through a row of accessories.

The lingerie store was possibly the most mortifying. Thankfully, Catherine only needed a few measurements to know what she needed instead of making him try on an assortment of silky and frilly things. Craig's stomach hurt; this was the worst few hours of his life, he thought. That is, until he realized he still had a 'date' tonight. After a quick trip through a department store makeup aisle, Catherine finally had mercy on him and they went back to his apartment. Fact: Shopping was a time-consuming and mostly pointless errand. She managed to keep him out until six in the evening, he realized with a groan.

She banished him to the shower again. Once he was clean again and smelling like peaches, he found that she had laid out a couple of articles of clothing for him. He pinched the bridge of his nose to try to relieve the ensuing headache. It didn't help. He sat down next to a pair of opaque black stockings with a leaf pattern around the thigh, a light pink and black lace garter belt, and a matching panty and corset set in the same light pink and black lace. Oh Christ, what in the world was Catherine up to? She clearly wasn't doing this halfway.

He picked up the pair of panties and seriously thought about throwing them out of his bedroom window, but going commando on a date with someone like _Rick_ sounded like an all-around bad idea. Fact: He intended on getting through this as quickly and painlessly as possible. The lace was delicate and he knew that if he tried to pull them on like a pair of boxer briefs, he'd probably rip them. She was intentionally trying to make this difficult for him… He dried himself off and pulled them on slowly, trying not to break them and suffer an emergency trip back to the shopping mall. The lace surprisingly didn't scratch and itch like he thought it would. It felt… kind of strange, as it wasn't unpleasant at all.

The only other thing he even had the inkling how to put on were the stockings and even then, he was afraid he would put a run in them. He gathered them up to the toe and really hoped that nothing went wrong. He slowly pulled them up his calf and stopped at the knee with a shiver. Fact: He evidently had sensitive legs. They were made out of a fine silk and they swept over his now-hairless legs like someone breathing just over his skin. Suddenly the lace panties he'd put on felt a little uncomfortable. He ignored the feeling and pulled on the other stocking. Now it was worse. He'd have to even this whole situation out when this was done. Yeah, Catherine helped him out, but she was making it worse, as well. He wasn't sure which was the deed that would get its reward.

Speak of the devil, Catherine waltzed into his bedroom like it was here, "Are you done yet? Do you need some help? Why am I asking? I know you do."

She picked up the garter belt and unhooked the back, "Could you stand up, please?"

Craig's face pinked when she arrived, but he did as he was told. She hooked the garter belt around his waist and attached the stockings to the buckles. Craig did his best to not flinch when she moved the stockings. It felt so strange… He couldn't decide if it bothered him or it felt very good… No, he wasn't supposed to enjoy this, it must bother him, he decided.

"Okay, are you ready for the corset now?" Catherine asked when she finished adjusting the garter belt.

"Cat, I'm not so sure about that…," Craig said, trying to protest.

"Go big or go home, right?" Catherine said, unhooking the hooks on the front.

She had a point, he supposed. Not a point he really liked, but a point, regardless. She waved at him to raise his arms and he complied. She snapped the pink corset around his waist; it was a bit more comfortable than Craig would have imagined, being some silky fabric on the inside. It covered just under his navel and just over his nipples, he realized, aiding the illusion that he was just a very flat chested woman. Then, Catherine moved to the laces on the back.

"Ready? Can you take a deep breath and breathe out for me?" she said, pulling at the unkempt bow it was packaged with.

Craig swore under his breath something colorful about bad karma and cruel gods, but he did as he was told. When he breathed out, Cat pulled as hard as she could on the laces, paying special attention to the waist. When she was done, Craig felt his spine straighten into place and he found it kind of difficult to take a deep breath.

"Okay, want a robe? It's time for hair and makeup!" she said cheerily.

Craig took his bathrobe from his closet without answering her. He was having a hard time summoning the breath to speak in the first place. He hoped he didn't pass out. She led him to a stool she set up in the middle of his living room and sat him down before immediately opening up several of her makeup trunks. She pulled out brushes and sponges all over the place.

"Craig, I'm so jealous, you have such good skin," she said absently, sponging on a very light colored foundation.

He ignored her silly banter and tried to focus on breathing. She tied this thing deceptively tight, apparently. He hadn't seen himself in the mirror yet, nor had the desire to, but he had to imagine it created the silhouette she was going for. She brushed, rubbed and dabbed until she was done, standing back several times to make sure she got the look she was going for. She finally looked satisfied and moved over to the coffee table full of wigs. He winced visibly when she touched some of the stranger looking ones. She mercifully passed over a 50's style bouffant and the ridiculous beehive style. She picked up two particularly light blonde wigs and put them near Craig's head to compare. He couldn't really tell what kind of style they were, much to his chagrin. She seemed satisfied and walked away to pick up another bag.

"It's almost seven thirty! When did it get so late?" she mused to herself, "We have to get you fully dressed still!"

She was right; he was sitting in his living room in unmentionables rather uncomfortably. She pulled out a bright blue dress from the bag, Craig suddenly remembered trying it on. It was short, he remembered ruefully; it had a wrap detail and a slight 'v' neckline. She started to pull it over his head, commanding him to stand in the only way she knew how: asking rhetorically. She quickly zipped the back and stood back to admire her genius.

"Ahh, you want to see how good it looks on you?" she spouted happily, "You look great, you know?"

Craig grimaced. He didn't really care, just so long as no one found out who he was. That would be a horrifying experience and he'd probably have to leave the library and then the entire town. Catherine buzzed around him, trying to make some adjustments.

"Did you know you have such boney shoulders?" she asked with some despair, adjusting the fabric one way or another, "Nothing I can do now, but I accounted for everything else!"

She pulled out another bag and then a shoebox. Oh god, he forgot about trying on shoes. He didn't even want to think about what he'd tried on. She was convinced he needed something sky high to make up for being so short for a guy and then laughed as he tottered around the shoe store. She pulled out a pair of booties, she had called them. At least he wouldn't fall out of them, he thought, they had a zipper up the side. She had him sit again and put them on for him. They slipped on much easier with the stockings, and they weren't as uncomfortable as he remembered.

"Ah, did I forget anything?" she asked, tapping her chin, "Oh, how could I forget?"

She dug in the plastic bag again and pulled out a chocker with a rhinestone bird on the front. She quickly put it around Craig's neck to cover his Adam's apple and tightened it slightly so it wouldn't slip down during the night. She then slipped on of the wigs over his head and stared to pin it into place with a mass of bobby pins. Pin after pin and wince after wince got the wig in place.

"There! Ahhhh, you can't even see yourself, can you?" Cat gushed, "Let me see your hands."

Craig didn't respond. Of _course_ he couldn't see himself, that silly twit. He did lift his hands so she could see them and she tutted at him like a mother hen.

"Your hands are too boney! Why are you so skinny, Craig?" she pondered, while digging into her bag again.

She produced a pair of delicate black gloves which she promptly put on his hands without asking. He glanced at them; they were soft at least and not uncomfortable. Aside from the restricting corset, nothing in this outfit was very bad… Not even the very tall heels he was wearing, not so much.

"Do you want to see now?" Catherine asked with a beaming smile.

"I suppose so," Craig said with a bit of trepidation.

Catherine picked up one of the big stylist mirrors she had and held it up for him to see. He did a double take and not in a particularly good way. He stared for a moment, turning his head so he could see it was actually him. The wig was long and layered; it surprisingly suited his now-very feminine looking face. The blue of the dress made his eyes look a darker pink, surprisingly. His thin mouth was lined with a soft color that actually made him look decidedly feminine. If he had to judge, he wasn't the most feminine and beautiful creature, but he definitely looked like a woman.

He looked down at the dress, which thankfully covered his boney shoulders with some adjustment from Cat. She was beaming at him the entire time, like she was a proud mother or something similarly disgusting. Fact: Craig was beginning to feel like a reluctant teen going to prom. Reliving his high school days was really not making him much happier. Catherine began to put some objects that Craig wasn't paying any attention to in a peacock blue evening bag.

"I have some supplies for you, just simple things," she said with an excited smile, "A little bit of makeup remover for when you're done with your little date, some of the lip stain I put on you just in case, and then your phone, which I turned off, and your ID! Is that everything?"

"I'm sure that's more than enough, Catherine," Craig said, taking the bag from her before she could stuff anything else into it.

"Oh no! Where did the time go? It's almost eight!" Catherine said, "Gogogogo, get into your room, I'll tell you when he gets here, okay?"

"What? That's very unnecessary—"

"GO," Catherine commanded.

Craig shut his eyes in a vain attempt to make Catherine and this whole situation go away. It didn't appear to be going anyplace, but regardless, he went back to his room, trying to remember if he had an aspirin left. He was having a little bit of a hard time walking in these damned heels, but he made it and shut the door behind him. He hobbled to his bed and sat down. He didn't really want to be alone with his thoughts, but here he was, sitting in a blue dress with a pair of stockings and heels. Things couldn't get much worse, but then Craig remembered that Rick had still yet to appear.

Craig stiffened; he could hear voices. In particular, a high-pitched questioning voice and a gravelly accented voice which could only belong to one person. He couldn't hear what they were saying, unfortunately. He could only imagine that Catherine was further humiliating him. He stood up too fast when there was a knock on his door, but he managed to stay on his feet. Catherine didn't wait any longer and opened the door.

"Hey, didja hear the door or not?" she asked, not waiting for the answer, "He's here, you know!"

Craig mumbled something about impractical shoes and how he was going to kill the inventor of corsets, which Catherine took for an affirmative of some kind. She opened up the door so he could come through, even at his slow pace. Rick was sitting there on the couch, wearing a dark blazer and slacks, complete with a jade green button up. Even Craig in his near-catatonic humiliated state had to admit that the lout cleaned up well. Rick finally looked up from the assortment of wigs on Catherine's table to hold back a laugh. Craig frowned; his mind nearly went 'I don't look that bad, do I?' He quashed that thought down quick.

"Hey there, gorgeous," he said, standing up from the couch to come over, "I was hopin' t'take out your brother, not a pretty thing like you."

Craig nearly ground his teeth; Rick's tone was obvious and he was joking around, "I swear to god, can we please just get this over with?"

"Now, Pinkie, don't tell me this is somethin' you do often, that'd ruin this whole bit I cooked up," Rick said taking Craig's gloved hand to get a better look at him.

"Nope! Craig didn't mention anything about me, did he?" Catherine said, picking about the worst time (read: always) to interrupt, "He didn't tell you about his best friend? I'm a makeup artist for the local theatre group! Did you know that I was trying to get him to do this for years?"

Craig shut his eyes and ran through the titles of all of Shakespeare's comedic plays to try to block out their conversation. He was trying desperately to go to his happy place. Rick was flirting with Catherine pretty obviously, too, from the snippets that Craig caught. Now he was trying harder for his happy place.

"Is that so, sweetheart?" Rick said, "Well, if this's your work, then damn, you deserve a medal."

_Cymbeline; The Taming of the Shrew._

"Oooh, you're very nice, did you know that? I don't know why you like Craig then, isn't he grumpy?" Cat prattled, "Don't you think he's got the hips for it? I mean, do you know how easy it was to put him in a corset?"

_The Merry Wives of Windsor; Troilus and Cressida._

"Corset?" Rick asked with raised eyebrows, "Why, no, I dunno how easy that was. You must be strong, sweetheart."

_As You Like It; The Merchant of Venice._

"Aw, you think I'm strong? I'm most proud of his face! Isn't it boney...? Isn't he kinda boney all around?" Catherine quipped.

_Twelfth Night; The Tempest._

"Well, I think we should maybe get goin', we got 'pointments to keep'n all," Rick said, curiously not taking the chance to poke some more fun at Craig's expense.

"Oh of course!" Catherine said, "I need to get home anyway, have fun, Craig!"

_All's Well That Ends—Oh shit._

Craig had to pay attention again once he realized that Catherine was packing up her stuff and about to leave him alone with this perverted blowhard. He warily looked up at Rick, who was giving him something akin to a carnivorous grin that Craig didn't like the looks of. His ham-hands still had Craig's in a bind, like he knew Craig would bolt if given the chance.

"A bet's a bet, darlin' and you sure have delivered," he muttered to him so Catherine couldn't hear.

"Thanks, sweetheart for takin' care of this little lady, but I have a reservation to catch," he said, pulling Craig out of his apartment before he could argue.

Catherine looked like there was another question on her lips, but it was lost in the slam of Craig's apartment door. Rick quickly pulled Craig close so Craig had to put his hands on Rick's shoulders. Rick's expression was one of competition and amusement, whereas Craig's was half-mortification and half-red embarassed blushing.

"Look here, beautiful," Rick said in a low voice, "I'm a gentleman so I'm gonna give you somethin' of a heads up. We're goin' to dinner and then a little club I know of, yeah? Here's yer'catch, durin' dinner, you can't speak unless it's t'me. I'll order fer'you, don't worry. At the club, y'gotta dance with whoever takes a likin' to ya, understand?"

Craig didn't have any other choice but to nod quickly. Anything to make him let go, Craig figured, anything to stop his head from spinning right now. God damn all attractive men, was the thought that ran through his head for exactly forty seconds straight. Fact: Infatuation and attraction were indicators that the object of said infatuation and attraction would be ideal for mating. Therefore, these were completely useless characteristics to a gay man; but the body had a different idea.

Thankfully, Rick seemed to be done with his 'amusing little rules' and had Craig's hand firmly still in his grasp while nearly dragging him down the stairs toward the parking lot. Craig was looking around for the beaten up pickup that Rick had used to drag him around that day to prove him wrong, but he didn't see that red eyesore anywhere. Rick was dragging him right toward a sleek and shiny black Dodge Charger while digging in his pockets for keys.

"Wait, what happened to your truck?" Craig said as he helplessly clomped over to this much, much nicer car.

"Hey, can't drive a lady 'round in a nasty old thing like that, kin'I?" Rick said with a flashy grin.

Craig didn't reply, but was instead calculating the possible wages of a delivery truck driver and then comparing it to an estimated cost of the car. They didn't match up, not even close; this model was very likely from the past five years and that made the value of a car jump significantly. This level of surprise was leading Craig to believe that he wasn't getting a clear picture of Rick the UPS delivery man and frankly, that kind of spooked him.

Rick was messing with his keys for a moment and then opened the door with a grand gesture, finally letting go of Craig's wrist. If only he weren't wearing a pair of ridiculous heels, he might've tried to bolt, but instead he found himself sliding somewhat gracefully into the passenger seat. With one shut door and a revved engine later, Rick was speeding down the road. He surprisingly didn't have his radio blasting this time and now the trip was much, much quieter. The silence was near deafening until Rick finally broke it.

"Y'look like a deer in'th headlights, sweetheart," he said with a quick glance, "What's on'yer mind?"

Craig scowled and sarcastically thought of all the reasons he might be feeling like a fish out of water. _Oh, I don't know, I'm wearing a wig, a dress, and a pair of heels, not to mention a set of lace undergarments and the steel-boned equivalent of HELL while being whisked off by some slightly mysterious albeit overly attractive meat head with a fetish for cross dressing and so many black belts that he could probably murder me with one misplaced gesticulation! _With that rather lengthy run-on thought, Craig realized he had been silent for several seconds and Rick was occasionally glancing over to him expectantly every so often.

"Forgive me if this is particularly crass and unusual for me," Craig finally muttered.

Rick laughed, "Never fear, gorgeous, next time y'kin wear whatcha want."

Craig tried to take a deep breath so he could yell, but it was quickly cut off by lack of air. Fact: Whoever invented these things should be permanently strapped into one. He opted instead for pressing his hand on his stomach to try to ward of an oncoming cramp and speaking in a much more mild tone.

"Who _ever_ said there was to be a next time?" Craig said in a near wheeze.

"Eh, I'll letcha decide when this whole mess's over," Rick amended.

Craig didn't have time to roll his eyes; Rick made a sharp turn and they arrived someplace Craig didn't recognize. It had a stucco exterior and a lot of lights on the outside; it looked crowded and that made Craig's shoulders droop. He didn't get out often, so it really didn't mean anything that he didn't recognize the place. It gave him a little hope that he wouldn't run into anyone he might possibly know from his very small social circle. Rick pulled up to the front and a valet opened the door on Craig's side. He froze for a moment, surprised enough that he didn't think of what to do immediately.

"Uhm, ma'am?" the valet said slightly nervous.

Rick was lightning fast putting the car in park and zooming over to the passenger seat to help Craig out of the car, or at least, that's how it seemed to Craig who was approaching dangerously high overheat levels. His face was flushed, but he managed to get out of the car with Rick's assistance. He found his hands desperately clinging to Rick's elbow as he navigated the sidewalk for the wobbling blonde.

Craig vaguely registered a long line of people and Rick coming up to a podium and saying his last name. He was panicking so bad in his head that he was going to trip, or his wig was going to fall off, or something else similarly mortifying that he wasn't paying attention to much else. He finally woke up when he was sitting in a booth a little too close to his date.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Rick said, not minding at all that Craig had a death grip on his arm.

"Easy for you to say," Craig growled, letting go of Rick's arm.

For some reason, he felt much more vulnerable without the contact, but he would simply have to deal with it. A waiter eventually found their way to them and Rick, true to his word, ordered everything in a jaw-dropping fluent French. Craig didn't speak French and Rick spoke so quickly that he couldn't catch anything he said. His jaw was hanging open for several more seconds after the waiter left and Rick finally looked over at him and grinned.

Rick reached over and tapped underneath of Craig's jaw, making it snap back up in a hurry, "What's that look for, huh?" he said, looking positively smug.

"…How did… I don't…," Craig babbled.

"Same reaction with the car, I'see," Rick said sounding like he might laugh at any moment, "Lessee, we gonna play the guessin' game or are you gonna tell me what's up?

"I-I didn't know you spoke French," Craig finally stammered, but now that he thought about it, Rick had mentioned being in Europe a whole lot while trying to flirt with his coworkers.

Rick didn't mention it, thankfully for Craig, "And th'car?"

"You drove a beat up pickup truck last time…," he trailed off, thinking back to the calculations he made about the salary of a UPS truck driver.

"Can't have 'nother car then?"

"The salary required to ob—"

"Now you're jus' assumin' when you don't know," Rick said, wrapping his arm around a reluctant Craig's shoulders, "Though, t'be fair, I did th'same to you."

Craig involuntarily relaxed a little out of curiosity. He wasn't terribly surprised, but Rick made it sound like he would explain, at least. Everyone else just passed judgment and moved on; much like he himself did. It was easier that way, unless people like Catherine and now _Rick_ were forcing their way into the line of sight for further examination.

Craig tensed up again, ready for the onslaught of insults to come, "Then what did you assume?"

Rick looked thoughtful for a second before he answered. Wine came to the table and the waiter poured two neat champagne glasses that Rick quickly picked up and offered to Craig. He absently took it, half forgetting he was wearing gloves and nearly dropping it on his dress, but he was much more interested in what Rick had to say. After all, who doesn't like to be talked about?

Rick carefully took the champagne glass before he spoke, "At first, y'looked like someone who'd have a fam'ly and some cute wife, but I noticed y'looked kinda lonely. Y'didn't talk'ta any of the ladies where y'work it seemed and then when y'bitched at me for callin' you boring… Let's jus' say I wanted t'find out."

The corners of Craig's mouth drooped a little further, "Why?" he asked, kind of annoyed that Rick had made such an assumption about—He stopped and stiffened for a moment. Well, mission fucking accomplished, he realized, he now felt bad for assuming anything about the UPS guy.

Rick grinned, knowing he'd gotten his point across, "Y'got mad and saw y'had some fire in there."

Craig hadn't expected an answer after Rick had gotten his little revenge, but the answer had him turning a little pink. He ground his teeth to try to get himself back on track and not… He didn't even know. This whole charm bit was very much offset by the fact that he was wearing a dress and sitting with a pervert. Suddenly, a few more waiters appeared, laying down covered plates in front of them. It all came pretty quickly, course after course all with small servings, but it was all amazing. He felt like everything went by in a blur because suddenly he was holding a glass with a splash of red wine in it over a scrap of something that was both delicious and chocolate. Rick's arm didn't ever move from around his shoulders.


	3. Chapter 3

Now that he had a little bit of wine in him, he felt a little bit more comfortable and wanted to ask the question that was burning in his mind for this entire time, "How do you afford to do all of this, if you don't mind me asking?"  
>Rick set down his own glass of wine and pulled Craig closer to him, "Whaddya think someone does with a shitton o'black belts, babe? I won a lotta competitions way back when. They usually have some kinda prize money. Past that, it's all bein' smart about investin' and all that."<p>

That did make sense now that Craig had a second to think about it. Obviously there were competitions for Mixed Martial Arts, though he was only dimly aware of them. Rick did feel… muscular enough. Craig was pressed up against Rick's side, though he didn't remember getting that close. It just felt much more stable that way. It probably had something to do with nearly passing out in the entrance to this place. Something occurred to him: he hadn't heard anyone speak English after Rick spoke to them in French, why did Rick want him to stay quiet?

The mild warmth in his stomach from the little bit of wine he'd had made it a little easier to talk to Rick, so he asked away, "Why did you want me to be silent while here?"

"Two reasons, beautiful, yer voice doesn't pass so well. Y'made such an effort tryin'ta look'th part, too. And th'other you won't believe me," he replied with a chuckle.

Craig found that hard to believe, considering how much he'd already found hard to believe. The stupid nicknames being turned on him, French-speaking well-off MMA fighters hitting on him, getting forced to wear a dress to a date with another man, to start off with were all very unbelievable things. He almost asked anyway, but Rick moved to spear his last bit of tiny cake his fork and held it up.

"Make ya a deal," he said with a mischievous grin, "Take this and I'll tell ya."

Craig gave Rick an incredulous look, knowing that Rick wanted him to eat it. The corset wasn't feeling tight enough as it was? It wasn't as though Rick knew about that. Fact: If the roles were reversed, Rick wouldn't be adjusting anywhere near as well. Craig couldn't decide if that fact was smugly good for his resourcefulness or very bad for his tolerance of these things.

He finally acquiesced and parted his lips with closed eyes. He felt the fork on his tongue and tried to quickly eat it, but he'd forgotten how good it tasted. He didn't know it, but Rick was watching as he swallowed and passed his tongue over his red stained lips. Craig finally opened his eyes to see Rick giving him '_the look'_ which kind of made him want to go and hide forever. It made him feel warmer than the damned wine did and that wasn't comfortable to say the least.

"Kinda wanted to impress ya with th'French, beautiful, believe it'r not," Rick said, squeezing Craig's shoulders a big tighter.

Craig didn't have time to express his disbelief with that because in the same blur that all of their courses came, the check was paid and they were happily ushered out and into their car without Craig actually remembering the transitions. Next thing he knew they were pulling up to a brightly lit dance club that seemed to cater to a crowd a tad bit younger than Craig had any interest in. There was another valet there and curiously, Rick got them in past the long line in the front. From his past piss-poor assumptions, Craig had to assume something was going on there, but he didn't get a chance to ask.

The inside of the club was loud and thumping so much that Craig couldn't hear himself think, much less anyone else talk. Rick had to nearly yell in his ear to ask if he wanted something to drink. He managed to convey that he wanted a drink and they moved over to the bar. Rick held onto Craig's gloved hand tightly, but Craig couldn't hear what he was asking for, still. He glanced around the club, trying to figure it out. There looked to be a balcony just over the bar where the VIP was and there was an upstairs and a downstairs dance floor. It was all lit with blue lights all across the edges, where the rest was a shiny black or silver. There were black lights on the dance floor Craig could see; this whole place looked like a 20-something hip hangout or whatever it is they would say.

Rick finally pressed something in a martini glass in Craig's hand. It was pink and opaque; a cosmopolitan, Craig liked those, at least. Rick gripped Craig's hand tighter and started pulling him through the crowd. Craig could barely see Rick ahead of them, this dance floor was packed. All of a sudden, Rick stopped and Craig had to figure out the brakes on his heels pretty damn fast before he crashed right into him. He could see he was talking to someone, but he didn't know who they were or what the might have been saying. Rick finally looked pained and turned to him.

"Sorry, sweetheart, but I have to go take care of something. Remember my rule for here?" Rick asked right near his ear and Craig nodded, swallowing heavily.

If he had to dance with whoever approached him, this might end up badly. Craig wouldn't admit this on his deathbed, but he was getting used to have Rick around to block out everyone else. He was getting used to having Rick there to lean on so he didn't break his ankles or fall over because he didn't know how to walk in heels. Rick pulled and grinned it him, touching his chin gently before he left with the other guy.

Craig shut his eyes for a moment but was jostled around on the dance floor. He quickly downed the rest of his cosmopolitan and started toward the bar for another one. The drunker he was, the more likely he'd forget about all of this in the morning, and hopefully, just maybe he'd forget all the embarrassment of this forever. He didn't make it as far as the bar before someone turned around and bumped into him. Craig nearly fell over, but he felt someone grab his elbow.

"Well there, miss! I'm so sorry about that, terribly clumsy you know. Comes with being tall and all, I mean, what else am I gonna do with all 6'5" of me, right?" someone chattered at him.

Craig finally looked up to see an impossibly tall man gripping his elbow. He had a stupid grin on his face that made Craig immediately dislike him, along with bright blue eyes that nearly matched the lights along the bar. Craig didn't say anything immediately which made the man start to look uncomfortable and nervously run his hand through his ginger hair.

The man pushed his glasses up his nose and then tried to guide Craig to a barstool, "Well, I must've done more damage than I thought then! Can't speak, okay. That is… not a good sign, but let's see what we can do about it, yeah?"

Craig winced, but allowed himself to be dragged to the bar. That is where he was going in the first place anyway, but Craig was a trifle annoyed with this babbling British man who seemed completely unable to shut up. Craig lifted himself onto the barstool with some insistent help from the blue-eyed man. He finally got a good look at the babbling moron; he was wearing some expensive kind of grey suit along with a vibrant blue shirt. He looked well-off, from the way he was carrying himself and the way he was dressed.

"Still not talking, hmmm. Ah, I've got it! I'll buy you a drink and maybe that'll clear you up, what do you like? Oh right, not talking uhm…," he spouted, making Craig roll his eyes slightly.

The man didn't seem to catch that bit of sarcastic body language, "Uhm, well, uh, do you like… Oh, hell if I know anything about alcohol. I only know one drink really and I've never even had it, funny story. It was some drink that someone spilled on me once and they said 'Oh, I'm soooooo sorry that I dropped that appletini on you!'" he said, mimicking a high pitched feminine voice, "And I asked her, 'you've ruined my shirt, why does it matter what kind it is?'"

He chuckled lamely until he realized Craig was staring at him with a decidedly uninterested glare. He cut off the awkward laugh before ordering an appletini with a wide-eyed bartender. That was an odd reaction for a regular customer, noted Craig. This guy was strange. Fact: Craig had been in the company of more strange men than he ever wanted to have company with ever again.

"Uh, so, my name's Wheatley," the man said, putting the martini glass full of apple-green liquor next to Craig's hand that rested on the bar, "What's yours? Oh, right, not speaking… uhm… Can you say appletini? Aaaahhhppletini, just like that, go on. Appletini."

Craig's eyebrows dropped into a pretty standard deadpan glare, which made Wheatley get seemingly _more_ nervous, "That's… uh that's glaring that you're doing right there, glaring. Apologies, I didn't mean to… imply you were stupid. Y-you must be mute, _which is okay!_ Nothing wrong with someone who can't speak! Some… some of my best friends are quiet, y'know… don't speak much."

Aside from disliking this chattering guy, Craig was wary to start speaking from what Rick had said about his voice. He hadn't tried to make it passing, just his appearance so he was better safe than sorry. Fortunately, this man seemed to talk enough for not just the two of them, but two more people and Craig passed this little trial without much worry. Wheatley kept pressing appletinis in Craig's direction and Craig managed to make the completely oblivious fool think that Craig had drunk every single one when Wheatley himself was drinking all of them. It was simple as flipping the empty glass from his long-finished cosmopolitan in front of Wheatley and switching it with a full appletini a quick, single wrist motion. The now-drunk idiot didn't seem to notice that he hadn't been drinking in the first place.

"Oh, I shwear I finished that," Wheatley slurred for the ninth time before doing the foolish thing by knocking the entire green drink back.

Craig winced, but at least Wheatley was the drunk one and not him. He couldn't even divine why he was pushing drinks toward him or even why Craig was sticking around to watch this train wreck. Craig watched as he picked himself off of the barstool and almost fell immediately to the floor. He clutched the bar as he steadied himself; Craig hadn't ever recalled seeing such a tall man so drunk before. It was morbidly amusing.

"I wash waiting 'til I gotta… gotta bit a courage'n me b'fore I asked this, y'know," Wheatley slurred, almost half forgetting the sentence he started, "But would you like to dance wif me? I mean, only if you wanna, 'cause I'm not a creep or anything, that'd be bad if I forced you to do it, right?"

Craig shut his eyes for a moment before he said anything. He really wished he could just speak right now and scare the moron off, but it appeared that wasn't going to work. He'd risk exposing himself to everyone and that wouldn't be pretty for his self-esteem. He finally just nodded to Wheatley who clumsily grabbed his gloved hand and proceeded to drag him out to the middle of the crowded dance floor. Wheatley stared for a moment, clearly unsure of how to do this now that they were there. Craig rolled his eyes completely this time, which was also missed by his drunken dance partner.

He finally caught a clue and shyly wrapped his arms around Craig's waist and pulling him close. Craig nearly cringed because he smelled so much like that apple-flavored vodka, but he pulled him so close that he had to put his hands on this drunk's shoulders. Wheatley must've taken that as a positive sign, because he quickly moved his hands to Craig's hip and the small of his back.

"Y'know, I might jusht regret saying this, but not to sound… y'know weird or anything because that'd be horrible If I shcared you off! Took all that time to chatchu up and then poof! You disappear? A whole night washted! But anyway, anyway, you're really something… well, beautiful, you know that? Yes, I've been quite smitten since you bumped into me, that's not strange, is it?"

Craig was trying to ignore Wheatley's babbling over his appearance because it was frankly embarrassing. He tried to listen to the pounding music like he couldn't hear Wheatley anyway. _Ooooh, let me in or I'll get physical… with yoooou~_ Craig winced and genuinely hoped that this didn't give this buffoon any ideas, like it had been with the grinding and gyrating people around them.

"Well, um, I shuppose it is kind of loud, so maybe you can't hear me!" Wheatley said and Craig made no indication he did, "Maybe this is kind of sudden and I dunno your name or anything, but oh well."

It seemed that this sound did indeed give Wheatley some room to loosen up because after a few moments of awkward silence, Craig could feel his hands moving. Craig's eyebrows shot up to his hairline when he felt a pair of awkward hands moving a bit too low for Craig's comfort. He finally deigned look glance at his dance partner and his reddened, bespectacled face was much, much too far down for Craig's comfort. He had to bend in funny ways to dance with the much shorter Craig, but now Wheatley was nearly bent in half bending near Craig's face. Craig's mouth opened to yell when he felt a hand pass over his ass and Craig only had a second to react, which he didn't use, before a very vodka-flavored mouth was pressed up against his.

This drunken ass kissing him was stronger than he appeared because as much as Craig tried to push him away, he couldn't even get him to budge. He finally let go and Craig immediately broke out of his dancing grip and did his best to dash away without falling over. He could hear Wheatley behind him bumbling on about making moves much too quickly and how he was begging forgiveness for being a horrible kisser. Craig almost took a left at the bar, intending to hide in the other dance floor, but he saw a sign for the bathrooms and shot to the right, moving past the entry way and coming up immediately to a neon-lit pair of doors that said 'Ladies' and then 'Gents' in a silvery looped script.

Craig stared at them for a very heavy minute trying to decide where to go until he heard a pretty familiar British accent behind him. Craig picked the door that would take him somewhere where Wheatley couldn't follow and burst into the ladies' bathroom. He kept running to the surprisingly mostly empty stalls and locked himself inside of the furthest one. He took a deep breath and checked the purse Catherine forced on him for his phone. He was highly tempted to call Catherine and call this a bust. Rick had abandoned him and now he was being harassed and groped by some babbling British idiot. He realized that he'd have to see Rick for a long time after this… and he did not want to give the man any blackmail material before he could make him sign a legal gag. He'd just have to go through with this. Maybe he could find Rick quickly and tell him what had happened and then they could leave.

Craig shoved his phone back into the bag and stepped out of the stall. He could do this and he would do this; he wasn't about to let some big brute who was leading him on get the better of him. And to think he was starting to like the UPS man; it was ridiculous. He strode toward the sinks and peeled off his gloves so he could wash his hands. There, a tall and pale woman joined him, washing her hands as well. Craig couldn't help but notice her as she was much older than the crowd around here, as obvious by her snow white hair. The woman looked up in the mirror and noticed that Craig was looking at her. She had an extremely neutral, almost deadpan expression on her face, but she started conversation anyway.

"You're extrodinarily tall for a woman," she commented.

Craig froze, unsure if the woman clocked him or was just trying to make conversation, "…Taller women are… are 80% more likely to have a lucrative career," he stammered as quietly as he could get away with. He dried his hands and pulled his gloves on while the woman leisurely dried her own. While she and him were standing up straight, Craig made the flabbergasted realization that the woman was taller than he was.

"Not with a timid voice like that," the woman said without emotion, "What is it you do?"

"I-I work in the city library, I'm the head librarian," he said truthfully.

"Hm, what is your name?" she asked.

Craig nearly panicked and picked the first name that came to the top of his head that started with a 'C', "Caroline," he blurted.

"Hm, funny, so is mine," the woman said, "I think I like you. Would you care to join me in the VIP?"

Craig studied the woman's face; it was long and pointed. It made Craig think of a spear; she didn't have any emotion in her face, even now. It was hard to tell if she was playing games with him or not. He erred on the side of caution and with the thought that he might be able to spot Rick from the VIP balcony.

"Yes, I would love to," he repeated.

Caroline didn't say anything, but turned on her heel and started for the exit. Craig, feeling a little self-conscious, paused for half a second before following her. She led him through the club, mercifully unbothered by any tall British motor-mouths. They began the climb up to the VIP balcony but was stopped by an annoyed looking bouncer. He asked Caroline for her ID and she whipped it out of some unknown pocket and she was allowed to pass. Craig nearly freaked out. This was his worst nightmare. Caroline was looking at him expectantly and he had no other choice but at least see if he could get up there so he didn't offend the frightening looking woman. He nervously pulled his ID out of his purse and handed it to the bouncer. He inspected it for what seemed like forever before glancing back up at him with a frown.

"Ma'am, this isn't you," he said grumpily, "Your husband or your brother, but he ain't you, _ma'am."_

Craig didn't know how to respond, so he quickly wet his suddenly parched lips and said, "Yes, yes it is, I'm Craig."

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his elbow and then, with a wince, heard a familiar spouting accent, "Thank you, Jerry, thanks for the hate-crime right there, give me that."

Wheatley snatched Craig's ID from the bouncer with surprising authority. Jerry looked suitably cowed as well; Craig was confused as hell and swearing revenge on this Caroline woman who was no longer in sight. Wheatley then steered Craig away from the VIP balcony and Craig stole a look over his shoulder where he could see several people outright staring at him. All of a sudden, he realized with a door slam that they were outside.

"Damn, I swear this was my office," mumbled Wheatley.

Craig gaped as Wheatley handed him back the ID and then jiggled the door handle to see if they could get back in, "Sorry about that, new bouncer, he won't be new for long, though! Gonna fire him, if you didn't catch that. Sooo out of here, didja see how rude he was to you? Mad, that one, really mad! I mean, if I weren't the owner, I'd complain… to me! Well, I'm not the owner _yet_ per say, but I am taking over for Mr. Johnson now that he's retiring. His wife, didja see that scary old bat? Caroline her name is, and she is a scary one, I'll tell ya."

Craig stared in disbelief as Wheatley prattled on like he hadn't just harassed and molested him on a dance floor and just found out he was a man, "Slow down," he finally said, which made Wheatley stop for half a second.

"…Oh you DO talk! I thought you might have been mute or something, but it seems you just, heh, lost your voice or something!" he blurted, suddenly seeming much more distracted and awkward.

"…I'm so confused," Craig said, putting his head in his hands, "You don't seem to care in the least that I am not a woman."

Wheatley paused to think about this, "I've had worse dates, luv, you are beautiful in that dress, I might add. I mean… I might not know what's under it, but I don't think I care! It's smashing on you. Smashing really."

"I can't believe this," Craig said, turning away to walk toward the parking lot.

"No, wait, I mean, I'm sorry for what I did, I sobered up a bit, had some coffee! That improves that, doesn't it? Right, yeah?" Wheatley said, following Craig.

"Fact: Coffee improves the _appearance _of being sober, but it does not improve actual Blood Alcohol content," Craig spat while trying his best to storm off.

"Oh, I did not know that, I learned something new today! See, lookit that, we make a great pair, just like that, now that you're talking, I'm learning! See that, regular… peas in a pod we are," Wheatley said, taking long strides to keep up with Craig.

"Please, leave me alone," Craig said firmly.

"Wait, wait! What now? Why? I swear I won't—Hey!" Wheatley moved to grab Craig's arm, hooking his fingers hard around his bicep.

"Let me go!" Craig said, trying to wrench his arm away from this clearly still somewhat drunk man.

"Would you just… wait a second, please just… stop fighting!" Wheatley pulled roughly on Craig's arm and he lost his balance.

He felt like he was moving in slow motion all of a sudden before he hit the ground, with a painful 'WRUNCH' sound in his left ankle. He immediately scuffed his wrists and then his elbows, too. He cried out in pain when he tried to move away again, realizing he did something serious to his ankle. He glared daggers at Wheatley who was now fussing over him.

"HEY," came a loud shout, making Craig flinch, thinking it was that damned bouncer.

Craig whipped around to see a pretty angry looking Rick marching down the parking lot instead of that rude bouncer. He was thankfully alone and had the fire of hell in his eyes; thankfully not directed at him, but at his harasser. Craig glanced up at Wheatley who now looked genuinely spooked considering how pissed off Rick looked.

"What in th'hell d'ya think you're doin'?" Rick roared, advancing toward the two of them quickly.

"Nothing! Nothing! She just took a tumble and here we are. I'm trying to help her here, nothing bad! Just a friendly… pick me up?" Wheatley stammered, managing to still talk TOO MUCH even when visibly scared.

"You're buggin' my date," Rick said in a dangerously low voice.

"YOUR date? Ooooh, then why… why weren't you with…"

Wheatley never got to finish that statement because Rick promptly punched him in the jaw. He didn't fall over, but he was now clutching his fast-swelling face while trying not to scream in pain about it. He stumbled backwards away from Craig, much to Craig's relief, and back toward the club. Rick knelt down and tried to see if he needed to go to the hospital.

"Are you alright, darlin'?" he asked, gently taking his arm to look at the scratches on his arms.

"Where the _fuck_ did you go?" Craig demanded, pulling his arm out of Rick's grasp, "Do you have _any_ idea how much that… that… _PARROT_ was bothering me!"

"Shit, you're right, I'm sorry; I swear I'll make it up to you," Rick said, suddenly extremely apologetic like he just realized his mistake.

"Like hell you will, take me home," Craig said, not really liking how much he sounded upset right then.

"…Alright," Rick said, righting himself and holding out his hand to help Craig back up on his teetering heels.

Craig stared at Rick's hand for a moment, knowing that he would be in extreme pain if he tried to stand and possible give his ankle a stress fracture. He was almost too proud to say that he couldn't get up, but he didn't want to be in a cast because of this insensitive asshole.

"…Ican't," he mumbled, "I… hurtmyankle."

Rick had a look of pained guilt across his face now and retracted his hand. He looked pensive for a moment before he crouched down to scoop Craig up bridal-style, forcing Craig to grab his shoulders to steady himself. He started toward his car through the mess of parked vehicles without a word. Craig, now physically and emotionally drained leaned his head against Rick's shoulder while trying to figure out why he was feeling such a sinking sense of disappointment.

"_Je suis desole," _Rick suddenly said, making Craig perk up a little and look up to find that Rick was looking him right in the eyes.

"I'm sorry I didn't hea-," Craig asked, sounding more upset than he wanted.

"_S'il vous plait pardonnez-moi," _he said said rapidly, "_Je vous laisse tranquille et vous av__e__z __é__t__é__ blesse__."_

Craig had no idea what he was saying, but Rick's deep, rumbly voice made it so he didn't really care. He never thought he was the type of person to be drawn in by foreign languages and deep voices, but here he was, finding himself forgiving the brute. He still didn't say why he had disappeared like that, but Craig just wanted to go home, he didn't care so much about the damn disappearance if he just got to take off this make up and go to bed.


	4. Chapter 4

Rick managed to open his passenger door and slipped Craig inside without dropping him. He quickly got in and started the car, racing toward Craig's apartment at record speed. Craig was silent for the entire time and so was Rick, surprisingly. Craig's ankle was still throbbing like hell and that was really all he could focus on. There was some movement on Rick's side of the car and he suddenly felt a hand squeezing his hand. Rick wasn't looking at him; Craig looked down and realized that even though Rick had done something insensitive and inattentive, he realized it and felt kind of horrible. If he hadn't been such good company before, Craig might not be so inclined to forgive him. Then again, this was the same man who made him trot around in a dress and wig, much to the joy of Catherine and the mortification of Craig.

They pulled up to Craig's apartment complex sometime later and Rick dashed around to the other side of the car to pull Craig back out of the passenger seat again. He made it as easy as he could by swinging his legs out of the car and wrapping his arms around Rick's neck. He really was pretty damn strong, or maybe Craig was inordinately light. Had the circumstances and the situation been different, he would have liked… No, Craig knew himself well enough to know that he would have been just as caustic and prickly under any other circumstances unless he was some benefactor for the Library and he wouldn't have considered him dateable in the first place.

"You alright there?" Rick asked, pulling Craig out of his thoughts.

They were already up to his apartment and Rick seemed to be waiting for Craig to realize they were at his apartment. He quickly shook his head to snap out of it and tried to open the door. Rick did it for him, managing to juggle Craig in his arms and pull the door open with ease. Much to Craig's relief, he didn't find Cat sleeping on his couch or even a trace of whatever she brought anywhere in sight in the living room.

Rick carefully placed Craig on the couch before sitting on his coffee table to fuss over Craig's twisted ankle by unzipping both of the horrible boots Catherine made him wear. Craig watched carefully, just letting Rick do as he pleased, which seemed to be right in line with what Craig wanted. Rick inspected both of his ankles before deciding which was bigger.

"S'it's this one, right?" Rick asked somberly, gently touching Craig's swollen left ankle.

Craig winced and nodded; Rick got up and turned Craig sideways on the couch by his hips. He gathered up some pillows and stacked them under Craig's ankle. He was moving wordlessly and his face was set into hard lines that Craig didn't like. They made his stomach twist into guilty knots and he didn't like it: it wasn't even his fault that he had been hurt. When he looked up, Rick had disappeared into his kitchen; Craig could hear his freezer being opened. He must be getting an icepack.

This wasn't exactly how he wanted to spend the rest of the evening, forced to wear a dress or not. The pins in the wig were suddenly starting to bother him, so he carefully plucked each one out and set them on the coffee table. He'd probably look strange without it right now, but he didn't care. Craig just wanted to be… Craig again. He tossed the wig off of his head onto the table as well and fumbled with the clasp on the choker. Funny how most annoying clothing never bothered someone unless they were thinking about it; that must be how women got around in uncomfortable clothing most of the time.

The little bag that Catherine packed for him wasn't lost in this fray, thankfully; Craig remembered Cat saying she packed him something to help himself clean up a bit. He opened the impractical wisp of a bag and found some makeup wipes, which he immediately started using, stripping off every possible particle of this horrible _paint_ that Catherin had slathered on him. He tossed the wipes away in a waste bin near him and leaned his head back. That was marginally better; he couldn't take off the corset without help… He was dreading even bringing up that he was wearing one.

Rick returned from the kitchen with a small bag of ice cubes wrapped in one of Craig's kitchen towels while Craig was emptying the rest of his things from the handbag. He dumped his phone, his ID, that damned lipstain that Catherine forced on him and then… out of the zippered pouch fell a flat shiny bit of foil. Craig stared at it for a moment, feeling the temperature rising in his head, but he quickly let it go. Catherine had snuck him a damn condom and he wanted to kill her right now. He dared to look up at Rick who was giving him something of a half-smile. Well at least _someone _was amused.

"Y'look more yourself," he said, sounding not at all displeased with that.

"No thanks to you," Craig said grumpily before he could bite back the words; he was mostly surprised there was no comment on the condom.

Rick looked guilty again and carefully crouched down next to the couch to apply the icepack to Craig's ankle. Craig winced and tried really hard not to whimper in pain, but sound escaped anyway. Rick was smiling still, that damned half-smile, but he wasn't looking at Craig. He was purposefully avoiding eye contact. Craig fidgeted a little, not enjoying the sinking feeling of guilt he felt, too.

"Rick… I…," he began, making Rick look at him with his deep green eyes. Shit, Craig wasn't sure he could work up an apology like that.

"Look, I don't _hate_ you for what happened tonight," he said slowly, "There was a 97% chance of everything going haywire in the first place… It's only half your fault I nearly got assaulted in a parking lot and then _felt up_ on the dance floor, so I… well…"

Rick's eyebrows shot up when Craig said he'd gotten felt up on the dance floor; an angry and slightly possessive look replaced it. Craig's stomach suddenly seized up into knots. He thought he knew what to think of Rick, but he'd decided in the restaurant he wasn't so bad… He'd always found him attractive, even if he hadn't wanted to… His opinions about a lot of things were shifting and he frankly didn't like it much, but here went nothing.

"I forgive you," Craig said finally, reaching to awkwardly play with the knot on his dress. He wasn't making eye contact, but he could almost feel Rick's heavy gaze.

Rick exhaled, making Craig look up at him with confusion. Had he said something wrong? He was under the assumption that an apology was exactly what Rick was looking for, but it didn't seem to be the case. Craig watched as his date arranged pillows and the icepack so it would lay on Craig's ankle unassisted. He then stood up and stuck his hand in his pocket to touch his keys; Craig could hear the jangle.

"Well, I'm gonna leave you alone then," Rick said, sounding decidedly rejected, "Sorry about the trouble, sweetheart. Won't happen again. Didja need somethin' else before I go?"

Craig's eyebrows knitted together. Here he was, trying to patch things up and now Rick was going to dump him here late at night with an injured ankle. This was not going to do at all.

"Yes," Craig said, sounding too much like a petulant child for his tastes, "Come here."

Rick did as he was asked; once he got close enough, Craig grabbed the fabric of his shirt and pulled him down as close as he could get him. His expression was one of utter annoyance and frustration; Rick was looking a trifle surprised.

"I forgave you, I'm okay, you were my 'knight in shining armor' for the night, happy now?" Craig said in an irate hiss, "Get with that idiotic charm you're so well known for."

Rick stared for several moments and finally chuckled, "Ooooh, gorgeous, you asked for it."

Rick lifted Craig's chin and kissed him as chastely and neatly as Rick could muster, chuckling again when he broke away and Craig's clear frustration was still plain as day on his face. Craig nearly considered chucking that horrible blonde wig at him for revenge, but he took a better route and grabbed the back of Rick's neck. He roughly pulled him down for a harder, hotter kiss. Craig broke away suddenly when he felt tongue. He got a hell of a lot more timid now that he was actually being serious about this.

Rick chuckled again; he picked Craig up by the hips and made it so he could sit on the couch with Craig, still in a dress, sitting in his lap. Craig wearily laid his head against Rick's shoulder; he liked how Rick's arms were around his waist now, strong and now felt kind of protective. His fingers were lazily trailing around the hem of the dress… Craig stiffened suddenly when he felt fingertips brushing the wispy silk of the stockings he was forced to wear. Shit, he was very, very careful to avoid touching his legs tonight because of how sensitive they were, but Rick didn't seem to be anywhere near as careful. He probably didn't even _know_ what this was about to do to him; Craig involuntarily shivered while Rick's hands seemed to enjoy the feel of the damn stockings. He was tracing outlines of the vine and leave patterns mid-thigh and Craig had to bite his tongue _very_ hard.

"Your friend did a preeetty nice job," Rick commented.

"I'm going to kill her," Craig said in a deadpan, eyeing the thankfully forgotten foil wrapper that was dumped on the floor.

Now instead of fingers, Rick was running his whole hands across Craig's thighs. Craig didn't move away, but unintentionally pressed himself into Rick's chest, biting back a sigh. It was a strange feeling, it didn't quite _tickle_ but it made him squirm a little… more now that Rick was being forward about it. Wearing lace panties really, _really_ wasn't helping his situation either. It was soft lace at least, so it didn't itch, but it made it hard to ignore the 'mostly' innocuous caresses in about the worst way possible. Rick's hands strayed toward Craig's knees.

"Y'smell really good, too," Rick's voice rumbled in his chest, right next to Craig's cheek, "Kinda like peaches 'n cream."

Craig could feel his face burning, but it wasn't so much from embarrassment now. His heart was beating pretty fast, too. He felt something under his chin, making him look up at Rick who had a half-smile on his lips. Craig swallowed in anticipation a little, biting his lip so he remembered to breathe. They were so _close_, close enough to smell something faint and musky, something that must've been Rick. It smelled so manly that it made Craig feel more feminine and he was alright with that somehow for the first time of the night.

"I'm so sorry for tonight, gorgeous," Rick said softly.

That damn husky voice combined with Rick's hands lazily trailing along the vine patterns on Craig's stockings was making him seize up in goose bumps all along his arms and down his back.

"I-it's okay," Craig mumbled, trying to look away, "It wasn't all horrible. Just that damned club."

In fact, things had gone better than expected at the restaurant, though admittedly, his expectations were very low. Things had only gone haywire at the club because Craig had attracted something of a stalker for whatever reason that Craig couldn't divine. He looked back over at Rick whose mouth has split into a stupid grin. Rick's arm circled around Craig's shoulder, pulling him forward. Craig's eyes automatically shut and he tilted his chin slightly forward, but Rick just brushed his bottom lip with a thumb.

"I like ya much better like this though," Rick commented, running his thumb the other direction, "I betcha look more comfortable without the dress."

Craig's eyes snapped open, "Help me the hell out of it, if it bothers you so much," he said waspishly, like he'd been waiting for that all night. He had.

"Don't bother me, unless it bothers you," Rick said with a wolfish grin.

"Do it anyway," Craig deadpanned the command.

"You got it, angel," Rick laughed, pulling at the ties around Craig's waist.

It took some pulling and a lot of serious communication, but the dress eventually came off. The blue material slid off of Craig's shoulders making him shiver again and pooled around his waist. Rick was staring at the pink brocade of the corset with a little grin that looked mischievous. His one hand stopped trailing lines across Craig's stockings to reach up and run down Craig's forcibly set curves. Craig chewed his lip and shut his eyes, trying to think something through. He… kind of wanted Rick to_ stay_, much to his surprise.

He set his chin on Rick's shoulder shyly, trying to draw up the courage to ask, "Can… can we g-go to my bedroom?" he asked quietly.

Rick didn't need a second invitation. He scooped Craig up and tossed the rest of the dress on the couch, making a beeline for the bedroom. He set Craig down gently on the edge of the bed, getting an eyeful of the set of clothes Catherine had forced Craig to buy for tonight. Craig fidgeted a little, reddening while Rick looked at him. The corset forced Craig's already skinny waist into something that resembled a thin hourglass shape, running down his chest, waist and hips until Rick caught sight of the garter belt that matched. It pulled the opaque black stockings into a neat point in the middle of each of his thighs and matched the black gloves that still covered his hands up to his elbows. Women's clothing or not, Rick thought he looked absolutely edible.

He thanked whatever luck he had that Craig honestly liked him enough to stick around to see this. Craig nervously bit his lip and looked up at Rick while he was being quiet. Rick tried to start unbuttoning buttons on his shirt, but was taking much too long for Craig's taste. He stood up on his good leg and started unbuttoning them for Rick, carefully avoiding the taller man's gaze. Rick smiled and ran his hands down the length of Craig's corset, playing with the ties and tugging at the tight criss-crossing pattern across his back. It got harder for Craig to concentrate on unbuttoning, with a pair of hands across his back and the line between buttons getting wider.

Plus, Rick's rough face brushed Craig's bare shoulder, shocking him out of his unbalanced position, but Rick held him in place. Craig hadn't been so glad he was on a date with a literal bruiser up until that point. By the time he undid the last button he could see, Rick was kissing the lines of his neck, making it pretty damn hard to stay upright. He obligingly leaned his head to the other side so Rick could gently nibble toward his ears. His hands strayed further downward, finally cupping Craig's lace-clad ass. Rick gripped tighter when Craig started swaying again, full on hauling him back onto the bed.

"Stay here," he instructed, quickly pulling off his blazer and untucking his shirt.

Craig didn't have much of a choice to go anywhere else, so he sat up and idly played with the garters on his leg. This immediately made him wonder why he hadn't taken them off yet… He reached around his back for the clasps on the garter belt, but Rick came back with the pack of ice in hand.

"Don't you touch that," he said with a playful mock-biting tone.

Craig scowled at him, but it didn't have any effect on Rick whatsoever; Craig did, however, move his hands away from the clasps when Rick knelt down in front of him. Craig gave him a wary look over his glasses, still seeing the bag of ice in Rick's eager clutches.

"Lean back and close your eyes," Rick said with a mischievous smirk that Craig didn't like one bit.

With a bit of pushing, he did shut his eyes and lean back. It did make it easier to breathe, after all. Rick thankfully put the bag of ice down before he ran his hands down Craig's stocking clad legs, but the left hand was still cold, making Craig shiver and his skin seize into goose bumps again. Fingers trailing along the stockings just felt so _strange_; Rick's rough fingers slid effortlessly across Craig's legs like this. Rick picked up Craig's uninjured right foot gently and held it loosely in his hands. Craig actually looked up this time to see Rick trailing his tongue across the top of his covered toes. His toes immediately curled and his entire body tensed up. The sudden sliding and warm sensation across his toes made Craig gasp; why did that feel so good?

Rick moved up, pressing kisses across Craig's ankle, calf, knee, and thigh, carefully nibbling past the very top of the stockings toward the edge of the garter belt. His hands began to scrabble at the hooks on the front of Craig's corset; one by one, as they unsnapped, Rick trailed his mouth up Craig's chest and one by one snap Craig's breathing started to hitch. The corset material splayed out behind Craig's back like a set of pink wings as Rick started sucking at the hollow of his throat. Craig's hands tangled themselves in the loosened material of Rick's green dress shirt, arching the small of his back.

Rick pulled back slightly, grinning at the sight beneath him. Craig was laying there in a heap of pink fabric and dark sheets, eyes half-lidded and skin flushed with anxiety and pleasure; his toes were near permanently curled by now and his hips were trying to reach some place… they didn't know where. This was exactly where Rick had wanted him from the very moment he decided he was attracted to the stuffy librarian. There was some rustling that Craig couldn't immediately register, but suddenly he bucked and gasped at a sudden spike of cold across his chest.

"You…!" he said, neck craned too far back to actually see what Rick was doing.

He had taken one of the ice cubes from the ice pack and started trailing it right down Craig's chest toward his navel. The sudden shock of cold made his heat-flushed skin chill in a manner of half a second. The ice was melting on the way down, dragging a path of cold right through Craig like a spike. Rick leaned down again and gently sucked the water that melted off of Craig's chest, making it down to Craig's navel, where the ice cube rested, gently drinking the remains from that crevice. Rick breathed and licked along the lines of Craig's stomach, trying to warm it back up and it indeed did without much work.

Rick was sitting between Craig's knees again, carefully unhooking the garters from Craig's stockings like an expert. He wasn't trying to remove the belt, though. He gripped the waistband of the lace panties and pulled them down his legs slowly, the lace rasping against Craig's silk encased legs. He shuddered, but did his best not to move away. His cock had been hard for a long time now and that lace prison was a good riddance in Craig's mind. It wasn't such a good riddance to him when Rick dragged a fresh ice cube down the sensitive vein on the bottom. Craig gasped and tried to move his hips out of the way, but Rick's hand was there to hold him right back down. That brute was strong enough to have his way with the ice cube and Craig's member while Craig was incoherently begging for mercy.

"S'cooooldstopstop_stopit'scold!"_ he whined before Rick dragged it right back up to the head of his cock; he could only gasp desperately in response.

Craig couldn't relax when the ice cube was removed because Rick began to _breathe_ on the left over water that collected in drops with the pre-cum that was already leaking. It was fucking _agonizing_ the way that Rick blew down Craig's cock, then right back up, making Craig writhe and shudder until he nearly forgot he was moving. Craig's head was tilted all the way back and when a sudden warmth engulfed his entire cock, his spine arched so far off of the bed that only his shoulders touched the sheets. There was a high keening noise that Craig took several moments to realize was coming from his mouth. Rick's mouth sucking his cock, warming it from the relatively cold state it had been was an _intense_ as hell feeling, shooting pleasure up Craig's spine and down his cock at lightning speed.

"Ah_god-gggaaawwd!"_ Craig screamed when his consciousness fell back to earth and he finally knew it was him screaming.

Rick was sucking and bobbing while re-snapping Craig's garters back to his stockings. He had quite a lovely vision budding in his mind and he'd be damned if he didn't get it. Craig was far too drunk off of sensation to notice until Rick pulled his head up and pushed Craig further back on the bed. He was gulping for air desperately while Rick pulled his button-down shirt off completely and started to unbuckle his belt. Much to Craig's disappointment, he didn't remove his pants, but he got back to the ground and hooked Craig's knees over his shoulders. The moment that mouth began to suck again, Craig was lost on everything Rick might've been planning. He felt something cool and slippery pressing just below his cock and balls, but it was so far beyond him to register what was going on. When Rick's fingers finally got inside of him, Craig was yelling loud enough to piss off his neighbors, his voice getting slowly higher as Rick sped up and thrust more fingers inside of him.

The sudden loss of those fingers and then the loss of Rick's _heavenly_ mouth made Craig whine in frustration, but it wasn't long before Rick propped Craig's legs back over his shoulders and held up a little piece of shiny foil for Craig to see.

"Forget something?" Rick asked cheekily, while undoing the fly on his pants.

Craig couldn't even think about _breathing _a response, let alone answering, but thankfully the plaintive look in his eye got the message across and Rick to hurry. Tearing foil and rolled plastic were the only other things Craig remembered before he felt something unnecessarily big pressing against him. All the goddamn preparation Rick might've tried in the world didn't prepare Craig for this and he wasn't _exactly_ a virgin. Rick held onto Craig's calves while he slowly worked his way into him, making Craig bite back moans of real pain. Rick groaned in a low, pleased timbre while his cock was sliding slowly into Craig, as opposed to Craig's pained gasps and mewls. An electrifying shock of pleasure suddenly whipped through Craig while Rick got as far as he thought he should, making Craig's previous moans of pain immediately flip back into pleasure.

Rick held still for several tense moments until Craig reached up and got a hand around his neck. He pulled Rick down for a kiss that gave Rick the permission to go the hell at it and that he did. With a firm grip on Craig's stocking clad calves, Rick pulled back out and thrust forward again, groaning at the same time Craig radiated off of the bed, breaking this kiss without a sound, but his face said it all. Rick leaned forward and started to thrust faster.

Yes, this was the image Rick was going for. He was a pretty visual guy, so Craig beneath him with that half-lidded, aroused expression, mouth open, while his knees were up and around Rick's shoulders in dark stockings and a garter belt was looking like classy burlesque-like porn in his mind; his trousers were even half on. He grabbed onto Craig's hips and started to pull the thinner man toward him with each heavy thrust, making Craig's shoulders twist and writhe and his throat nearly go hoarse from the completely unabashed moaning. His hands were clenching the dark sheets tight enough to rip.

Rick leaned forward far enough so Craig's knees nearly met his shoulders and pounding harder into him. Craig started to scratch at his shoulders, leaving long thin trails across his arms. Craig suddenly gripped his elbows tightly, gasping desperately.

"I'm… I'm … ohgod, I'm going to…_ah-aahhh!"_ Craig began to scream and stiffened his entire body.

He came long white pools just above the hem of his garter belt across his stomach and chest. The sudden stiffening of Craig's body made it pretty hard for Rick to keep doing what he was doing. Craig was constricted very tight around Rick's arousal and he was already pretty damn close.

He suddenly pressed his face against Craig's shoulder, "_Fuck!" _ he groaned with gritted teeth, coming just a few moments after Craig had done the same.

They held still for a long moment breathing heavily before Rick pulled out and started to clean up, tossing out the now-used condom and poking around Craig's bathroom for a towel. Craig didn't think he could move for a moment, so he just planted his feet on the mattress and waited for Rick to come back. Rick stopped in the door of Craig's bathroom, staring. Craig was stretched out across the dark sheets, his pale skin flushed and his chest softly rising and falling. His real hair was mussed and his glasses askew with the mess they'd made sliding across his chest. It was… well, Rick was just glad that they'd just finished or he'd probably have tried again.

He approached, making Craig's half-lidded, tired eyes focus on him. Rick quickly cleaned up his chest and climbed into bed with him. Craig sat up to pull the garter belt off and unsnap the straps from the stockings, but they stayed. It was only then that Rick realized what a flexible position he'd forced Craig into. Rick pulled his pants completely off and started to pull at the sheets to climb under them. Craig shyly positioned himself under Rick's arm, laying his head on the man's broad chest.

"Not gonna take off your…?" Rick asked, letting his hand run just across Craig's thigh for the stockings in question.

Craig sighed, "I think I can get used to them," he admitted.

"You're pretty flexible, too," Rick noted, with a laugh behind his voice.

Craig nearly didn't have the energy to be indignant, but he managed anyhow, "I may not be some muscle bound brute, but I do things to stay active."

Rick's chest shook slightly from his chuckle, "Oh? Like what, darlin'?"

"…Yoga," Craig muttered.

Rick chuckled again and squeezed Craig's shoulders into a hug. After a moment of figuring out the lamp, Rick reached over and shut off the light so they could go to sleep. Rick stroked Craig's blonde hair until he felt the smaller man relax and sleep. Rick idly wondered if there would be a fight in the morning because of all the shit that went down. Considering how well they had gotten along past the initial humiliation, Rick kind of regretted making him do it…

There wasn't much else he could do about it, so he settled down and fell asleep; quite content that he could feel Craig's silk stockings against him while the man slept. It had been fun while it lasted.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning was kind of a blur. The moment it was even kind of decent for someone to call, both of their phones were ringing off the hook. Catherine was calling Craig, leaving him several voice mails and text messages until he gave in and picked up. Rick's phone was even ringing off the hook, but his caller was someone that he knew he couldn't take the call while in Craig's apartment. He instead busied himself in Craig's kitchen, putting together some kind of breakfast in his slacks and open button up while Craig deflected Catherine's questions like an expert. He even did it while injured; Rick had to give him MVP of the night, in his head.

"No, Cat, I refuse to tell you anything about last night until I can speak to you face to face," Craig said for the umpteenth time, "Of course not! Hadn't you guessed there was at least a twenty-five percent chance of that, don't scold me for that kind of thing, Catherine."

Rick didn't know what Catherine was scolding him about, but he had a feeling it might've had something to do with her belongings, such as the wig that sat on the coffee table. Craig listened for a long moment before adjusting his bathrobe again in annoyance. Rick set down toast and a few slices of melon on a plate for him while idly listening to their amusing conversation.

"Jesus…, no! I'm not telling you _anything_ until I can see you, I refuse Catherine," he said with exasperation, "You know exactly how stubborn I am and I don't really care for your threats!"

Craig grabbed some of the melon and held it up to his mouth while Cat chattered away on the other end. Rick started to pay more attention to that now, watching while the green honeydew pass his lips slowly. Hah, yeah, Rick made the right decision asking him out. Craig was interesting and fiery, as well as vulnerable and just damn _sexy._ The corners of Rick's mouth twitched as he heard Catherine having a near coronary on Craig's cellphone. He reached over and stole the phone from Craig, who was okay with not speaking to his chattering friend until he realized that Rick intended on _speaking_ with her.

"'Ey, Cat, s'me," Rick said, ignoring the immediate stream of questions, "Can Craig call ya back, he's kinda busy right now."

Without waiting for an answer, Rick pressed the red button and set the phone down on the table. Craig almost looked annoyed, but Rick saw the corners of his mouth upturn just slightly.

"That was genius," Craig said, sarcastically, "She'll stop calling for all of an hour while she draws wild conclusions and then I'll get a never ending stream of voice mails of her just _squealing_."

"Just enough time to get out of here," Rick said with an innocent smile.

"How chivalrous of you."

"Always," Rick said, grabbing his blazer off of the back of his chair.

He stood up and pressed a kiss to Craig's forehead, "I had fun. I'll see you at the library; call me if something happens to your ankle."

"O-okay," Craig said, sounding slightly disappointed.

There wasn't much Rick could do about it, considering who was calling him. He maybe should have just come out with it and told Craig why he disappeared in the club, so this would make more sense, but it didn't matter right now. It was only until he was on the phone and driving away that Rick realized he hadn't gotten Craig's phone number. Oh god, he was a dumbass.

The phone finally picked up, "Rick? RICK, I swear to everything I hold holy that I didn't know that was your gi-ow, ow, woah, okay. Lemme slow down, mate, yeah? Got a raging headache from the fiery depths of Hades cause of your uh… gal-pal last night."

"Wheats, I swear to god, you hit on one more of my dates and we aren't friends anymore," Rick said with mock anger.

Wheatley, of course, believed him, "But-but! I swear, I didn't even know uh, she was with you!"

"And now you have to make me feel like a tool for ditching Craig to deal with _your_ end of the business," Rick said with an exasperated sigh.

"Well, excuuuuse me for working the crow—Wait, _Craig_? You knew about him?" Wheatley's voice was starting to rise in pitch.

Rick rolled his eyes, "Yeah, I did."

"Craig, so that's his name, huh… Y'think I could meet hi—"

"NO."

"Alright, partner, alright! You didn't have to punch me in the jaw though. That hurt! That really, really hurt, you know. I've got a bruise and it hurts just to talk! To talk, mate!" Wheatley said, still intent on making Rick feel bad about it, "And a hangover on top of that from your little _girlfriend_ last night. Clever little minx, he was…"

"Yet here you are, talking my damn ear off," Rick sighed.

"Did… everything go well then? Is he alright? Busted ankle and all that, no trips to the emergency room? I'd pay that, you know, in full, all my fault, really," Wheatley babbled on.

"_Yes,_ he's fine, now drop it, you ass," Rick hissed.

"Fine fine, might go check on him myself, since you're being so stubborn about it," Wheatley sniffed.

"And get a restraining order. You don't know him very well, do you?" Rick said with almost a note of laughter in his voice.

"Restraining order! I was only trying to—Well I, just—The nerve of some people you know, I can't even believe…"

"Wheats, you felt him up in the damned club. You should be glad I'm not finding you and beating you to a pulp right this second. Did you have something you wanted to tell me or is this just a pleasure call?"

"O-oh, he… he mentioned that, did he? In my defense, I was pretty drunk from all of those appletinis _Craig_ managed to slip me last night. I dunno how he even managed to do it! It just kind of happened and now here I am, with this… this raging headache and—"

"The point, Wheats," Rick said in a dangerously low voice.

"Oh, yes, right, right. The point. I called for two things, one being that you punched me in the face last night, like a _prick_, but I forgive you and apologize to Craig, if you manage to ever let me see him again. The second is that apparently, because of your _girlfriend_ last night, the Johnsons have decided to release the club to us permanently!" Wheatley babbled, slowing down near the good news.

Rick paused, confused at what Craig had to do with this at all, "What to do you mean, because of Craig?"

"Well, it is under one condition and one condition only and that is we make the place more accessible to transfolk and the like, crossdressers, Drag Queens, all that business," Wheatley said, "_Craig_ had a little run-in with that dick of a bouncer. Jerry, you remember him? The big one with the lazy eye?"

"Yeah, I remember him," Rick said with a roll of the eyes.

"I had to save him from that little mess, which led to _you_ punching me in the face. Is that the thanks I get for doing something so kind as that? Really, Rick, are you that much of a dick to your old pal Wheatley?"

"If you hadn't let the books get screwed up in the first place, Wheats, I wouldn't have had to leave him behind!" Rick growled.

"Oh… right, yeah, I guess you're… right about that and everything, but ANYWAY, do you think we should agree to that?"

"Of course we should," he said, "I'll be right over after my shift."

"I don't even know why you keep that job," Wheatley said, "It's so… menial for someone who's got enough like you do."

"It keeps me familiar with a lot of faces, let's just say that," Rick said, hanging up the phone.

That job was going to get him a chance to see Craig again, if anything. Now, he had some things to get…

EPILOGUE

It was several weeks later and the renovations to the library had gone better than expected. A couple days after Craig's ankle had healed and he returned to work, he got a neatly written letter in his inbox that was signed by a Cave and Caroline Johnson. It was an apology letter for the harassment he'd gotten at the club Rick had dragged him to, harassment from the bouncer, according to the letter. It was sincere and heartfelt; aside from the burning humiliation that Craig felt while reading it, it was a nice gesture. Even nicer was a very hefty check enclosed, written as a donation to the library.

Craig hadn't planned on following legal action on that front, for fear of embarrassing himself like no other, but he had a hunch that donation was insurance in that field. They didn't know anything about him, so they had to assume he was probably being serious about it; which made him feel a little bad in the matter, but he quickly brushed it off.

He hadn't seen Rick in a very long time, since the lug left without exchanging numbers. He thought about him occasionally, but it was eventually only in passing. Craig finally convinced himself it was meant to be like this and he should be upset with the pervert for doing all of that to him.

It did bother him in the back of his head that Rick had been sweet, and good company. Aside from all of that, it had been… well, honestly it had been really great sex. That part was more than a little disappointing, but it was just going to have to be that way. He went about his business and even managed to sate Catherine's curiosity long enough to get her to lay off of him about the date. He was pretty sure she sensed that he was a little upset about how it ended. That was fine; she could assume what she liked.

Things got back to their monotonous normal in less than two weeks. Craig was discretely reading something behind his desk one day when he heard the normal chattering that might have started when the deliveries were made. That was highly unusual, the deliveries weren't usually today. Craig carefully bookmarked his place with a finger and stood up to see what the commotion was about. Just at his door appeared a certain familiar brown-uniformed man with a cocky grin. Craig's eyes widened and he bristled immediately.

"The hell are you doing here!" he spat.

"Woah, sweetheart, glad to see you, too," Rick laughed, "Package for you."

Craig frowned deeply, but he signed for the package anyway. The sender was… _Rick._ Craig glanced up at him with a deep glare.

"I was hoping I could ask you out again," Rick said, suddenly sounding sheepish, "Maybe without a wig this time."

Craig set the package down on the desk and glanced at the book he was reading, setting it face down as well with an evil glint in his eye.

"No, I'm asking you out," Craig said, finally turning around, "Saturday, meet me at my apartment."

Rick turned his head slightly to one side. That was unexpected, but he didn't decline, "Sure, what time?"

"Early, two o'clock," Craig said with a thin smile, "We'll have things we need to get. I'll cook."

Rick smiled, "Okay, I'll be there."

Craig watched him leave and flipped the book around to look at the title again. It was called _Rope, Bondage, and Power_.


End file.
